Stockholm
by gackt groupie
Summary: In a time when notorious bank robbers Sam and Dean Winchester rules the 1940's criminal underground, no one disputes when Dean sets his sights on a Mr. Jensen Ackles. Least of all Jensen himself. Contains slash.


Jensen figured he was a fairly normal guy. Born to a good southern Texas family, football star in high school, now had a decent job and an amazing woman to call his wife. Sure, they weren't rich or famous, Jensen himself had sifted through the bargain bin for his clothes on more than one occasion. But they always had the bills paid on time, and he still had enough left over each month to spoil Danneel in one way or another. They didn't go to church as often as their upbringing mandated, but they tried all the same.

Both vehicles were Fords. Nothing special. So yeah, he considered himself to be fairly normal.

Since he was a normal guy, he hated bank lines. With a _passion_. They reminded him of the metal chutes at cattle yards, cramming too many individuals into a small space. It was dull, monotonous, and there was no guarantee the experience at the end would be a pleasant one. You never knew with these bank tellers.

He sighed irritably and checked his watch for the twentieth time. He absently drummed his slack-clad leg with his other hand, willing the line a step forward. He was tired, hungry and wanted nothing more than to be at home curled up on the couch with Danneel. It was sweltering outside and they hadn't gotten around to fixing their ceiling fan, so she'd probably decide to wear as little as possible. Maybe, he thought wryly, even that little silk nightie he'd gotten her last Christmas.

His lips curled into a hint of a smile as the fantasy took shape, and the line began to fade out of focus. He saw her tanned skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, him leaning in to chase a runaway bead from between her breasts with his tongue...

"_Everybody down! Now!"_

Rapid gunfire, people screaming in terror. Jensen dropped to his knees on the marbled floor, his arms crossed over his face. He caught a glimpse of two men rushing the front counter, the taller of the two leaping over it. The first stood poised, aiming a machine gun at the terrified people. After a moment's inspection he recognized just who they were. It was the fucking Winchesters!

He'd seen the news coverage on them. Sam and Dean Winchester, a sibling duo notorious for their ability to bust through bank vaults with apparent ease and disappear on a moment's notice. They were in a class of their own, criminally speaking. Though their body count wasn't as high as most of their ilk, they still managed to earn themselves a place on America's top 50. It seemed these two weren't interested in killing. Authorities were beginning to conclude they did it more for the hunt than anything else.

The elder brother Dean waved a tommy gun at the people on the floor and tossed the younger (and much taller) Sam a large bag.

"Hurry up, Sammy!" he called. Sam grunted in response and disappeared into the back room where the safe stood. Dean then turned his attention back to his hostages.

"Alright! Everyone listen up! You know who we are, you know what we can do! I don't need any heroes today, so if you all just stay down and be quiet, no one gets hurt! Got that?"

A few more shots rang out for emphasis. A couple people screamed and cowered further. Jensen saw one bullet hit tile barely a foot from him. He jolted, but stayed still. He watched Dean prowl in front of the long desk, carefully surveying them all. Eventually Dean's eyes fell on his and a strange look came to the mobster's face. Jensen quickly averted his gaze.

It was too late however, as he could already hear footsteps quickly approaching where he knelt.

"Well well, what have we here?" Dean crooned. Jensen's heart pounded, he could do nothing but stare at the brilliantly shined shoes that stepped mere inches from his knees. He heard a whistle and something hard tapped the side of his head. He flinched and instinctively glared at the offending object, only to realize he was glaring at the barrel of Dean's gun. His eyes widened and he gazed fearfully up at the man (probably not the wisest course of action). Dean's eyes, so much like his own, glimmered from beneath the shadow of his smoky fedora. A slow grin split his face, and Jensen saw the barest hint of teeth peek out from between full pink lips.

"Hey there, handsome."

Jensen compulsively swallowed but didn't respond. He was caught immobile beneath the piercing green gaze. Dean's grin widened further.

"Well? You gonna say something or just sit there like a bitch?"

Jensen blinked and his eyes darted from the bottom lip caught between white teeth and the round barrel of the gun that sat poised an inch from his nose. He licked his lips and swallowed.

"I-I, uh...hey."

Grin further. God, did he look like that when he smiled?

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam called out as he bustled out from the safe. Dean kept his gun on him but turned to his brother.

"Sammy, come see this."

"What is it?"

"Just come here!"

Sam groaned, hefted the bag on his shoulder, and waved his gun at a group of people as he passed them.

"Don't fucking move."

He trotted over and Dean sidestepped a bit to give him a better view. Sam's deceptively boyish face split into a surprised and wide eyed grin.

"Holy shit Dean."

Smirk.

"I _know_, right?"

"He looks just like you. Could be twins."

"I _know._ We should take him with us."

"What? No, we can't do that! We don't do prisoners."

"Oh, come _on,_ look at him! He'd make a perfect patsy!"

"_Bullshit_. I know that look in your eyes. You wanna fuck him!"

"_So?"_

Jensen tried to listen to their bickering, but the muzzle of the gun in his face seemed far more adept at keeping his attention. He eyed the weapon, measuring it up. As notorious as the Winchesters were, he wondered just how many kills this gun was responsible for. Every bit of news footage available showed Dean with the same gun every time. Sam favored the one make and brand, sure. But it was only his guns that were found at crime scenes. The police had yet to find any weapon of his brother. Dean seemed loyal to this one gun. Seeing it up close Jensen could see that it was old, very old. It was very well cared for, he reasoned, and wondered why that seemed relevant at the moment.

Perhaps it was shock setting in.

But seriously the gun was beautiful, it's individual compartments and mechanisms carefully oiled and polished. Jensen knew the pleasure that could be wrought from cleaning and polishing a gun, and a part of him missed those younger days spent sitting on his bed, cleaning his various rifles and shot guns.

"Nice, ain't it?"

Jensen's eyes shot back up to Dean's. He was struck with the amazing view (wait, what?) of the elder Winchester grinning down at him from with half-lidded eyes. It was an intense sight to behold, one that put heat to his cheeks and somewhere else that he wasn't about to acknowledge.

The gun was pressed to his forehead. A breathe cut off, turned to a gasp. It was still slightly warm from the last time it was fired.

"I _asked_ you a _question_. It's _nice_, isn't it?" he growled, enunciating each syllable. Jensen nodded.

"Y-yeah. It's beautiful," he stated, his mouth working of it's own accord. A low hum of approval reverberated from Dean's chest. He bit his lip as a sly twinkle filled his eyes.

"Yeah. Beautiful. This here's my baby, never part with her. I've tried other guns and..." a shrug, "they just don't, you know, _do it _for me." A wink. Jensen shuddered. That sounded dirtier than it needed to. "You know what I mean, don't you? I'll bet you do. You look like a guy who knows his way around a hot piece of iron. Am I right?"

Sam rolled his eyes and stalked off, muttering obscenities under his breath. Jensen's brain on the other hand had short-circuited, as Dean had begun to drag the muzzle down his temple. With agonizing slowness it crossed over his cheek, crept along his jawline and grazed up his chin before finally settling on his lips. He held a breathe. His heart pounded frantically, trying to break free from his chest. He let out a whimper, though from fear or...something else... he wasn't sure. He wasn't going to press the

issue, as there were more important matters at hand.

Like how the gun was currently trying to work it's way between his lips. Or the deep rumble of the voice that commanded him-

"_Suck."_

A beat. Jensen felt his dick give a traitorous twitch.

"W-what?" he stammered, wide eyed. Something dark flashed in the Winchester's eyes.

"I said _suck it_, bitch. My gun."

"I-" the muzzle was shoved into his mouth, and it prodded the back of his throat. He gagged and coughed.

"Fine! Fine.." he managed to grit out from around the smooth metal. A moment's hesitation as he closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he was about to do, to the utter wrongness and absurdity of it.

When he opened his eyes, at first he could do nothing but stare at the small dark hole at the end of the waiting muzzle. He had no clue where to start.

Easy Jensen, he thought. It won't bite, at least as long as he keeps his finger off the trigger. Don't give him a reason to put it there. You've eaten ice cream cones before, can't be that much different...

He placed a hesitant tongue on the barrel. He felt the residual heat, tasted the burnt and slightly acrid gunpowder. He trailed his tongue over the rim and down the smooth shaft, exploring it, getting the feel of it. He heard a breath catch in Dean's throat, and his spine gave an answering shiver. He watched the finger on the gun's trigger, at the absurdly erotic way it seemed to fondle it and the tension of wanting to _pull _plainly visible through the soft chocolate leather. Jensen's heart raced, almost daring it to apply that small bit of pressure.

"Yea. That's it baby."

Dean's voice spurred him on, solidified his resolve. He wrapped his lips around the shaft and gently dragged them along. Dean moaned.

"_God. Yes._ You like that, don't you?"

Jensen answered him with a short affirmative grunt. He was surprised when a gloved hand carded through his hair.

"Don't stop, baby. Don't-"

A siren rang out.

"_Dean!"_ Sam called. "We need to _go_, now!"

The gun disappeared from Jensen's mouth with an enthusiastic whoop and strong hands gripped the lapels of his coat, yanking him to his feet. Before he had any real idea what was going on, his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was being shoved towards the back door by Dean's strong hands.

His legs tingled from the loss of circulation, so he stumbled at first.

"Wait-" he began.

"Not _now_. We gotta scoot, now. This is awesome, ain't it?"

"What?"

"Dean, are you _nuts_? Leave him!"

"Shut up and don't drop the bag, Sam!"

They ran down an alleyway and ducked into an alcove. They waited. Jensen was pressed between the wall and Dean, and for the life of him he couldn't bring himself to object to that.

"What's your name, handsome?" Dean asked, his voice velvety smooth. Jensen shivered and he unconsciously licked his lips. He still tasted gunpowder on his tongue. He opened his mouth to answer, but found no sound would come. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Jensen. I'm Jensen."

Sirens sounded from the distance. Far from worried, the Winchesters snickered and whistled as a large black coup came squealing from around the corner. Sam ducked inside first, and Jensen nearly fell into his lap when he was shoved inside behind him. Dean flounced in shouting "_Drive, drive drive!"_

With squealing tires they took off. It was then that Jensen found his voice.

"What the hell? What the hell are you doing? What do you want with me? Let me the fuck out!"

Dean '_shushed_' him gently.

"_Relax, _baby. You're safe." he soothed, giving Jensen a winning smile. He noticed a very faint splattering of freckles on the Winchester's nose. Now that's just unfair. No murderous bank robber should have freckles as adorable as his. That's like giving an alligator floppy ears and a fluffy tail.

Man, you could almost count the freckles, too. One, two, three...

Wait a minute.

"What do you mean safe? How am I safe? You kidnapped me!" Right. Priorities.

"You didn't fight very hard." Dean pointed out. Jensen scowled. _That_ was immaterial.

"I was in shock!" he defended. Another grin and twinkle.

"You're really ballsy when you don't have a gun in our face, you know that?" 

"I think that could be said for anyone.." Sam muttered, pouring himself a drink.

Dean's gun pressed to his forehead.

"On your knees. On the floor."

Another shiver rocketed down his spine (where were these coming from?) as he obeyed. Something about Dean just made want to _obey. _

_Obey._

Dean's eyes seemed to scream the word with the way they twinkled, even in the darkness of the car's backseat. The slight upward quirk of his lip implied the _now_.

He ended up being situated between Dean's knees. Once he settled Dean nibbled his bottom lip again and made a '_hnnnnng_' from deep in his throat.

"There," he purred, "that's better, ain't it?"

He plucked his fedora off his head, revealing perfectly groomed golden hair. Jensen's skin tingled, and not even he could deny the effect this position had on him. He licked his lips apprehensively. Sam groaned.

"Oh come on Dean, I'm right here!"

"Then go sit up front with Cas." Dean grinned and cupped Jensen's jaw.

"So handsome, how'd you like my gun?"

Jensen blinked, and his eyes darted from Dean to a very horrified Sam. Dean, sensing his hesitation, looked up and spoke the shiny divider behind him:

"Cas! Stop the car!"

The tires screeched as the driver immediately complied. Sam practically tripped over Jensen in his hurry to leave. Neither man moved until they heard the front door slam shut and Sam complain loudly about what was about to take place.

Jensen was met with another grin, a comforting chuck under the chin.

"You ready, baby?"

He nodded. Damn him, he nodded. He knew he shouldn't, knew he should have fought against this man (he had certainly been given plenty of opportunities to do so).

But as he was pulled up by his collar into a kiss, the word _shouldn't _vaporized and became _more_. Dean's lips were soft, hungry and they devoured his desperately. With his hands cuffed behind his back moving was a delicate affair, but that didn't stop Jensen from crawling into the mobster's lap. There was a muffled chuckle.

"Well well, aren't we eager?"

Jensen huffed and nipped Dean's bottom lip.

"Would you rather I be kicking and screaming?" he breathed into the robber's mouth, who growled. A gloved hand gripped his hair and pulled. Jensen gasped as lips grazed his ear and hissed:

"I may be a lot of things, but a rapist isn't one of them. If you don't want this then get the fuck out. "

He'd stumbled on a raw nerve. Dean's eyes burned with heated malice and despite how _incredibly _hot it looked, Jensen felt guilty for the flippant remark. He frowned and captured his lips into an apologetic kiss. _Sorry_ it said, and Dean seemed to immediately forgive.

"That's better," he muttered into Jensen's mouth. Their kiss deepened, each man giving as good as he got. Dean's hands snaked around Jensen's waist to rest on the spur of his hip and the small of his back, pressing him further against his straining crotch, earning a surprised gasp from Jensen. He grinned.

"That's all you, baby." Lick the exposed throat, nibble the jugular. Grin at the moan that spills forth. Already Dean's cock was _aching_ from the leftover thrill of this latest hit and the beautiful specimen currently grinding into him.

"_God."_

Deft fingers tugged Jensen's button down and undershirt from his pants and revealed a teasing sliver of tanned skin. The muscles twitched and danced beneath his fingertips, and Dean heard the slight sound of a breath catching itself in his shadow's throat. He stroked his thumbs along the waistband of Jensen's slacks, teasing. The man growled and jerked his hips, wanting more. This was a very pleasant surprise, Dean thought to himself. Jensen had taken to him so readily, so _willingly _that Dean found himself undone.

With a quick tug Jensen's zipper was unfastened, his pants splayed open and Dean's hand reaching inside. When fingers met the straining flesh struggling against their remaining bindings, things inside the car rapidly grew even more feverish.

"Sit up," Dean grunted suddenly.

"What?" Jensen mumbled back, only to be hefted from Deans lap and dropped bodily onto the seat beside them. Quick and graceful as a fox Dean was on the floor in front of him, on his knees and with a rueful grin on his face. Jensen stared wide eyed.

"What the hell are you-"

"Sshh, baby. I got you. Just sit back and enjoy." he soothed with a quick lick of his lips. Jensen closed his eyes in apprehension when his dick met the cool air and any last inhibitions he may have had were drowned out by a moan when he was immediately enveloped into the wet heat of the mobster's mouth.

"Ah, _fuck.._." he gasped. Dean hummed and dragged his lips up his shaft, his tongue tracing the underside. He gripped Jensen's hips and held them in place, preventing any sort of movement from the man above him. He teased him with his mouth, coaxing the most delicious sounds from the man. As he suckled the head, Jensen moaned and jerked in the seat. With his hands still bound behind him, his back was arched in awkward angle, and his legs were splayed wide. He was pinned, practically hog-tied even, and the thought shot a shiver up his spine. His eyes fell closed and he rested his head back on the seat, awash with the pleasure of Dean's mouth and tongue on him.

"My god you have no idea how you look right now." Dean moaned, stroking him. Jensen peeked down his heaving chest at him with half-lidded eyes. Green eyes twinkled back at him in the dim light, lips were quirked into a grin. Jensen's head spun, he wanted to respond and tell him...something. _Anything. _But in all honesty, what do you say to someone as they pick you apart and blow your mind?

"Yeah. Don't stop," he said. Or at least, that's what he _thought_ he said. In reality it came out more as "_Nnngha. Doh stu..." _His eyes fell closed again as Dean snickered and returned to his ministrations. Jensen heard the metal clinking of a belt buckle being undone and the '_snnnk'_ of a zipper.

Dean managed to free himself from his pants one handed. He stroked his left hand along the leaking and spit-slicked head before taking his own erection in hand with a sure grip. He acquired a feverish pace and quickly worked himself in his hand. He let the sounds of the heated moans wash over him and fuel him. It had been so long since he had done something like this and he had almost forgotten the sheer adrenalin addled pleasure that could be wrought from another man. Especially if said man was your goddamn doppleganger.

Hell, it had been almost ten years since he had been with any man at all.

Jensen's moans quickened. He was close, so close. Dean quickened his own hand, wringing out a hurried climax with a choked-off groan.

"Ah, _fuck,_" he grit out. He wasn't usually one for coming first, it was the mark of a selfish and bad lover. He usually loved making his partners beg and scream for hours on end before letting himself go. Usually. When he didn't have other plans. Or when-

_Tap tap tap._

-he wasn't strapped for time.

"Dean, we're here." came Cas's voice.

Jensen started, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car. Dean grinned to himself and gingerly arranged the man's still erect and un-spent cock back into his underwear and pants, Jensen looking wide-eyed and scandalized.

"What the hell..."

"Sorry handsome. Ran out of time." he soothed, inwardly congratulating himself on his impeccable sense of timing. Jensen grabbed his wrist and held it in place on his zipper.

"You can't leave me like this!" he protested. The mobster laughed and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

"Oh yes, I think I can." He grinned smugly and plucked his fedora from the seat, placing it back on his head. "The question is," he winked ruefully at a furious Jensen, "can _you_ leave _me_ like that?"

Jensen blinked, confused.

"Where the hell am I going to go?" he snapped. "I'm handcuffed!"

Oh, the glare he was giving him was just precious. It took everything in him not to say 'fuck off' to Sam and Cas and just jump him here. Instead he began to re-tuck the man's shirt.

"We are at a hotel. We pay them to look away and pretend we don't exist when the cops come snooping around, but even they can't ignore us dragging in a handcuffed hostage."

"Dean, _come on!_" came Sam's irritated voice. Dean rolled his eyes.

"_Alright!_ Keep your dress on!"

"So you admit I'm your hostage?" Jensen growled, ignoring the exchange. His skin was unbearably hot and he could feel wave after wave of crawling desire radiating through his skin. He refused to admit the fact that he was only protesting his handcuffs was because he couldn't do shit about his raging hard-on. How could he leave him like this?

"You aren't if you follow us. Sure I could make it worth your while...somehow." Dean responded with yet another grin and a pointed downward flick of his eyes. The handcuffed man glared.

That manipulative bastard.

Jensen glared poisonous daggers at Dean's retreating back. He peered out of the open door, watching Sam scowl at his grinning brother. He was vaguely aware of the driver unloading the front seat.

"Well? You coming? Can't uncuff you if you don't get out." Dean teased, his voice annoyingly bright and sing-songy. Sam's frown deepened.

"I still can't believe you brought him with-"

"Ruby, Sam. Remember Ruby?_" _Dean retorted without looking at him. He braced a hand onto Jensen's shoulder, who reluctantly allowed himself to be guided from the back seat. Sam looked outraged and opened his mouth to argue, only to shut it again.

"S'what I thought." he winked at Jensen, making his stupid little heart give a flutter. "Turn around so I can do your cuffs, handsome."

He obeyed, and turned his back to the two brothers just as the driver named Cas ducked out of the front seat with the bags in tow. Jensen's eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. It was...

"_Misha?"_

He froze, hand poised above the car door. He looked remarkably like a whitetail Jensen had seen once when he was sixteen before he plowed it over with his truck because he couldn't swerve in time.

"Jensen?"


End file.
